The Girl That Mattered
by randomfandomcity
Summary: It turns out that John has a daughter, but he doesn't know that because Moriarty made him forget. His daughter Adelaide Watson has been in Moriarty's care for two years and John is the only family she has left after Moriarty kills her Mother and sister. She has to make John remember, but Moriarty just wants Sherlock to play the game. Will Sherlock realize before it's too late?
1. Chapter 1

Prologue:

The screams were going to come, she could feel them welling up inside of her. Normally the pain subsides, but for her it just gets stronger. Sometimes she would think that the pain couldn't get any worse, that it could only get better. It never did though, the pain never eased, it only changed.  
Her eyes were closed, settled into a dream, but her mind was on fire. She kept seeing it, watching helpless as her mother died in her arms again and again. She knew it would never stop. Sometimes she could break free, wake herself with the screams, but it was only a short time before she found herself falling asleep once more. Falling asleep at the hands of the man who ruined her life. At the hands of Richard Brook.

Chapter 1:

She was sitting in the fetal position, head resting on her knees. Something was stuck to her forehead but when she tried to move her arms they didn't respond. She ran through the basics to keep herself from panicking. She didn't remember much but she knew her name, Adelaide.  
Okay, how old? Hmmm, about 13, the last couple years have been a stain on my memory. 13 sounds about right though. What happened? Drugged probably, not sure though. Where am I now? No Idea, looks like a flat though. Or rather the hallway in front of the flat whose door I am sitting in front of. Looks small from here, probably in the city, not likely I'm here for someone unimportant enough to have this small of a flat outside the city. But which city. Ugh, my deductions are becoming ever slower, I wonder how long it will be until I lose them all over again. Oh well, keeping it going, thing on my head? Hmm..  
Adelaide's thought process cut off abruptly as the door swung open and a hushed whisper carried through the hall.  
"John, something is wrong here, see the marks on the door and threads of fabric caught in the wood. Someone was carried in here."  
Adeline smiled, John was the name of her father. He always weighed heavy on her heart ever since the day she was taken away from him "for her protection" according to the CPS. But he was all she had in the end, with the violent end of her mother and sister. Even John, the army doctor had almost been lost to her when he was shot in the shoulder and invalidated. Adelaide felt the tears coming, even if her father was alive, he would not recognize her. Something happened in Afghanistan, something nobody will talk about. Something that made him forget about whole parts of his life, about his family. As she sat there thinking, she almost didn't catch it. Her father's voice. Maybe it was a hallucination from the drug, but she didn't think so. It was definitely there and definitely her father's voice.  
"It's probably nothing Sherlock"  
Footsteps began to echo from the stairwell. She started to feel self conscious, not like he would recognize her anyway, but oh god, she was wearing batman pajamas and a cape. The footsteps suddenly stopped short, probably they had caught sight of her, she tried to lift her head and managed a jerky nod, willing her eyes to focus. Adelaide managed to keep the smile from flashing across her face as her gaze fell over her father. It was so hard to believe, Father, standing right in front of her, so many times she had wished for this. Her joy soon washed away, looking at the blank stare of her father. This is going to be torture for her.  
Sherlock didn't really seem phased as he stepped forward from behind John and plucked the note off her head. He stared at it for a second and proceeded to hand it over to John. Sherlock pulled his phone out and texted Lestrade. John gasped. The note read: Queen to 221B, checkmate. Your move. Love, JM.  
Sherlock walked right past her, but as stunned as John seemed, he felt the need to tend to Adelaide, for which she was grateful.  
"Sherlock, what do we do with her?" John questioned.  
Without even turning around from studying the note, he replied "bring her in here, Lestrade will be here soon."  
Adelaide could feel John struggling to pull her up, so she pushed herself up as best she could and managed to cross into the room with the aid of John, falling only once or twice.  
"I think she's drugged Sherlock, what should we do. Does she need a hospital?" John contemplated.  
"No John, you're a doctor remember?" Sherlock replied testily.  
Adelaide lost the thread of conversation as she tried to keep herself from slipping into sleep, into the bad dreams, but the drugs pulled her under.

_Talking, waiting. She's taking to long. Listening to the door, hoping I don't get caught. I need to be home. After an hour I knock. No reply. Heart starts beating faster, mind racing, hoping. Turning the handle, pushing the door, running my gaze down to the floor. Stomach drops, heart stops beating, blood on the floor, a cut small but deep. No time for tears, jacket comes off and against her stomach. The bleeding doesn't stop. Soaks through the jacket until I'm panicking and screaming. They come rushing and try to push me away. She's dying, I'm not leaving now. They call the paramedics. I'm holding her in my arms now, the light fades from her eyes, her pulse slows, her lungs stop working and she loses her grip on the world. Sitting there and the tears won't come, just the pain, worse than any wound, worse than hers, like I've been emptied out, nothing left of me anymore. And I'm screaming, the pain is too much, too raw, she's like a grenade and she just exploded, embedding her shrapnel in me, because I let myself get too close, because I let myself love her. Mother is dead and I'm screaming because I can't stop. I keep reliving this moment over and over in my dreams until I don't know what reality is anymore. And I'm not sure I'll ever wake up._

Adelaide feels strong hands against her shoulders, holding her down. Her screams are still echoing around the flat and her eyes fly open to three people standing over her, hands over their ears and two of them look worried. The other would be Sherlock, observing with renewed interest. Lestrade tries to calm Adelaide enough to get some answers. She seems excited by the freedom of movement she has now gained and sits up rather quickly, something that will probably cause her a good deal of nausea. Her hands move tentatively to her cheeks and she seems rather taken aback by the tear tracks that now reside there.  
Adelaide starts muttering "not supposed to happen, not supposed to happen, not supposed..."  
But Lestrade quickly grabs her shoulders and calms her down. "we need to ask you some questions"  
Adelaide looks confused for a moment but agrees.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Lestrade's point of view

His phone buzzed, surely Sherlock hadn't figured out the case yet. He clicked it open to find a text from Sherlock obviously, but it wasn't about the case.

_Come to Baker Street, Moriarty left us a present._  
_SH_

Lestrade grabbed his keys and headed out the door, he hoped it wasn't too urgent, he was a good half hour away.  
When he arrived at 221B Baker Street, he saw an unusual sight. John was staring concerndly at the couch where a young girl clad in a Batman onesie and a long black cape lay thrashing on the couch, with Sherlock standing over her with his magnifying glass, occasionally pausing at parts of her hair or clothes. She was apparently sobbing, her face red and shiny, shouting random words every once in a while. Sherlock took a step back when he saw Lestrade walk in and swept his hand towards the girl.  
"Our present Lestrade. What do you think?" Sherlock asked expectantly.  
"My god Sherlock! What's wrong with her, is she alright?" He practically yelled.  
John winced at the harshness of Lestrade's words, "Calm down, I think she's having a nightmare." He offered.  
As soon as John finished speaking, the girl tightened into a ball and started screaming a frantic and dreadful scream. All three men covered their ears but Lestrade pulled his down to wake the girl up. Her screams stopped abruptly, but she was still shaking violently. She looked around, confused at where she was. He looked down at her, she had visibly calmed herself, but what about the panic inside? She put a tentative hand to her face and she looked absolutely terrified when they came away wet. Her face filled with panic and she started muttering a continued chorus of "not supposed to happen". He quickly brought his hands down on her shoulders though. He needed to ask her some questions. She seems to be calming down again but that look in her eyes is so terrified, he was almost afraid to ask. Luckily she agreed and Sherlock brought over the note, and the bag of stuff that had been lying next to her.  
"What is your name?"  
"Adelaide"  
John spoke up. "I always loved the name Adelaide, thought I would name my daughter that. It's very beautiful.  
She looked at him expectantly at first but her face soon fell and she turned away from them so only Lestrade could see the silent tear sliding down her face.  
"And your last name Adelaide?"  
"I can't tell you."  
"Why not? Do you not remember?"  
"No, I remember, but I can't tell you, he said I shouldn't."  
Lestrade felt like he was going to have to get what he wanted from the girl in a very tricky way. Sometimes the ones who can't answer the simple questions will go for the bigger ones.  
"Who said you shouldn't?"  
"My adoptive father."  
"Yes, but can you give me a name?"  
"Not really, he had me call him Father, I asked him once what his real name was, but I have sufficient reason to believe that he was lying. He told me his name was Richard Brook."  
Sherlock actually looked a little panicked for a split second, but pulled a mask of calm over his face. He decided to intrude with questions of his own.  
"Tell me what he looked like." Sherlock commanded.  
"I-I don't really know. I saw him mostly at night. He had dark brown hair, I think he combed it back, not really short but just not tall, always dressed funnily, sometimes he would wear really expensive Westwood suits, but sometimes he would go out in a v-neck and jeans. I asked him what he did but he never told me, just said he was a consultant."  
Sherlock sank back down to think about that while Lestrade pressed on with the questions.  
"What was living with him like?"  
Adelaide took her time to respond to that one. "It was amazing most of the time. We traveled a lot, but always had really nice houses to stay in, he never let me see the addresses to any of them if you're wondering. For the two years I lived with him, I didn't really go to school, although I seem to have a surprising store of knowledge in my head. I love learning and he was always very understanding of that, so he let me do pretty much what I wanted, watching science shows or reading articles. Sometimes I would practice my math skills. He also taught me himself. Things like writing checks and taxes and stuff especially. He let me wander on my own a lot and even bought me a phone to keep in touch with my friends. I never really saw much of him during the day, but it was better that way. When I did see him, especially at night, he was twisted. He tortured me with the death of Mother, and what he claims to have done to Father. He haunts me with the fact that there was nothing I could do to save my sister. He talks about them and boasts, says that he did it all, and he is capable of hurting me much more than he has already hurt me. He would say all of these things and drug me until I fell asleep where I would have the nightmares of Mother dying in my arms, or Father pointing a gun at my head, or running to save my sister only to end up missing. I would see it over and over again, until I didn't remember what it was like to not be living with that pain, and I would scream, that was the only thing that could bring me back, the screaming. I would scream and he'd be there. He'd hold by hand and stroke my head and I'd stop hating him again. Things would be normal. Until the next night and it would happen again. He messed with my mind. That's the worst kind of pain. He took away all the people I had been foolish enough to care about and used that pain against me. It was worse than any wound, he emptied me out and put me back together the way he wanted peice by peice. But come morning, I was happy and content. I didn't even think about the dreams. I think he wanted it that way. Honestly, I promised myself I wouldn't care about anyone anymore, but he was the closest I came. The same is true the other way around too. No matter what he did, he cared about me. Or at least as much as he can care."  
Surprisingly, Sherlock was listening with rapt attention whereas he had been blocking everything out just a couple moments before. Lestrade knew that Sherlock was probably hard at work figuring out what she had just said, so he turned to John. He hadn't said much this entire time, but his face said it all, both his parents were dead and he was pitying her, he knew what it was like. At least a little more than the rest of us. But what had she said, about caring? She sounded surprisingly like Sherlock sometimes, "foolish enough to care about?" It might seem like that to her but he was tired of hanging around people who thought caring was such a bad thing. Where would Sherlock be if he and John and Mycroft didn't care about him. Dead, that's where.  
Sherlock stood up quickly and addressed Adelaide. "What happened with your father? You said "what he claims to have done to Father" not killed, so what happened?"  
She stared at him, grief heavy in her eyes and Lestrade thought that Sherlock had finally done it, but she replied with equal ferocity, "That is the key to all of this, isn't it. What happened. Unfortunately my kidnapper picked the only set of circumstances where I cannot disclose that information. At least not now. For you to know anything too soon with that brain of yours, it could ruin everything. I will tell Lestrade in private, as long as he promises not to disclose the information to anyone else, including you. Do you trust him Sherlock?"  
Sherlock simply replied with a "Fine" he turned and looked at Lestrade "I've got work to do anyways, she can go down to Scotland Yard with you, get someone to deal with her after she tells you what happened."  
"Fine Sherlock, text me when you have anything on that case."  
He stepped out of the room, Adelaide and her backpack trailing close behind.  
"Do you mind if I change first? These clothes are so embarrassing." She asked the DI.  
He allowed it and she came back wearing an expensive looking and intricately sewn maroon dress.  
"Looks a little dressy." he said  
She blushed a bit and responded. "This is normal for me, even my birth parents insisted on always dressing nice, besides it is only dresses like these that I have in my bag and I felt this one would be the most suitable since it is shorter and doesn't have any parts to step on or trip over."  
Lestrade smiled and walked out the door and onto the street where he stepped into his car. Adelaide followed suit and soon they were off driving, the Yard wasn't far away, only about 10 minutes. When they got out, Lestrade looked over and realized that they hadn't gone through her bag yet. Well of course Sherlock would've but she was holding an iPad in her hands, probably locked with something he couldn't guess. Although maybe not. He would text Sherlock later and ask him, he didn't want to go through the girl's stuff too much. They walked inside and Lestrade showed all the proper ID.  
He turned to Adelaide and said "what are you doing?"  
She looked up momentarily and said "needed to get my mind off of that stuff, I'm participating in a forum that is currently debating the possibilities of faster than light travel.  
She was smiling so he left it at that. They walked into his office and she sat down in front of his desk.  
"Where do you want me to start?" she said.


End file.
